


Code Name; Love

by justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anti-Donald Trump, BAMF Tony Stark, Bombs, Bottom Tony Stark, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Emotional Sex, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Non-Graphic Violence, Oval Office, President Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Secret Service Agent Tony Stark, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, White House, death of a child, oval office blow jobs, terrorist attack, white supremacy mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/justanotherrollingstony
Summary: The first time Steve sees the man who is going to be his personal security detail, he nearly swallows his tongue. Tony Stark is handsome, capable, and good with a gun.Steve doesn't stand a chance.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 53
Kudos: 485





	Code Name; Love

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love my country and wish Steve Rogers was real and really president, lets all enjoy some fic where the cheeto in chief isn't in the white house and the world is a (slightly)better place. 
> 
> Check end note for triggers.

_“I mean, he’s 36, single, and Captain America. Is there a **better** candidate for President of the United States?”_

_“It’s truly a stunning addition to the field—he’s the first serious third party contender since George Washington! If there’s a man more American, I don’t know who!”_

_“In a win that everyone saw coming, Steve Rogers aka Captain America has been elected as an independent to the office of the Presidency. This truly is a night to remember folks—something to tell your kids about for sure.”_

* * *

Steve stares wide eyed around the room—it still hasn’t really hit him yet that he’s both the youngest President and only the second Independent President _ever_. 

The door behind him opens and the man that comes through smiles widely, hand extended as he steps forward. “Captain Rogers it’s an honor!” 

Steve grins and takes his hand, “Mr. President, it’s my honor,” he says honestly. 

The man waves a hand, brushing aside the praise, “Eh, come on, let’s not get bogged down in how much we admire each other,” he jokes. “Follow me and I’ll show you all the stuff you’ll really need to know,” he says warmly.

Steve nods and follows behind the older man, nodding as he points out offices and bathrooms, hidden nooks that are perfect for a smoke break or a reprieve from the chaos of the White House. They end up in the kitchen, tubs of ice cream pulled out, straddling stools and chatting amiably.

“Well, I mean it’s different for you; you’re young and single. Michelle and the girls went through hell for eight years because of this place, and I have to say, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without them.” 

The President looks up at him with a faint smile and points his spoon at Steve, “Find yourself someone you can always count on, someone who has your back. You’ve got a great chief of Staff in that Romanoff, but you need someone _personally_ who can help you shoulder the burden this place puts on you.”

Steve nods thoughtfully and wishes for a moment that Bucky was with him, but his best friend had chosen to go work for the CIA—hunting down HYDRA and other terrorists to make up for his time as the Winter Soldier.

He hesitates a moment and then looks up at the President, “Sir, can I ask you something?”

The older man grins and nods, “Only if you call me Barack.”

Steve smiles back, “Uh sure, okay, Barack,” he says, a little nervous to be on a first name basis with the President of the United States. “What do you do when it gets bad?” he asks softly, “What do you do when it’s a no win situation?”

Barack goes quiet and twirls his spoon for a minute before sighing and shaking his head, “I pray. I pray for the courage to make the best worst decision I can that saves the most lives and then go hug my wife and kids when it’s over.”

Steve nods solemnly and the kitchen falls silent as they dip their spoons into a tub of rocky road, the weight of the office hanging over both of them. 

When the door swings open Steve looks up and feels his stomach flutter; the spoon slips from his fingers and clangs against the table loudly, drawing Barack’s gaze up. 

Flushing, Steve ducks his chin and peers at the man who has just stepped into the room from beneath his lashes. He’s short and lean, but the way his suit clings to his shoulders and hips suggests musculature and strength that’s not as obvious as Steve’s own towering figure. 

An angular jaw is lined with stubble, dark hair cut short and those eyes...those eyes peer at him with curiosity and more than a little interest before flicking to Barack.

“Tony!” Barack cries happily, waving the other man over, “C’mere and meet Captain Rogers,” he invites. 

The man—Tony—steps over and offers his hand, “Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly, grip firm and calloused. 

Steve curses his easy Irish blush as his cheeks heat and ducks his chin, nodding, before he clears his throat and looks back up at the man, “Thank you,” he murmurs, “are you part of the President’s secret service detail?” he asks, gaze flicking to the ear piece and then the gun nosing out from under his jacket. 

Tony nods, “Yes sir, I’ll be your personal detail once you take office.”

_Oh shit_ Steve curses silently, swallowing hard around the knot in his throat, smiling faintly. “That’s, well, I-uh, I appreciate that,” he manages to stutter.

“Tony here took care of my girls for the past eight years,” Barack tells Steve, clapping a hand on Tony’s back with a fond grin Steve is surprised to see Tony return. “He’s family,” the older man says fondly, “and we take care of each other in this family Steve. It’s an odd one—you’ve got republicans and democrats and an independent now, but we’re all a part of the same thing—men who have held the highest office in the land.”

Steve nods and chances a glance at Tony, flushing again— _goddamn it_ —when he sees the other man studying him carefully. 

“Join us for some ice cream Tony and lets tell Steve some stories,” Barack invites, leaning over to grab another spoon from the drawer. 

Tony grins and shucks his jacket, rolls up his sleeves and goes to the freezer, “Mr. President I respect the hell out of you, but you have atrocious taste in ice cream,” he teases, eliciting a laugh from Barack as he brings a tub of coffee ice cream over and plants himself next to Steve so he’s facing the door. 

They pass the evening eating ice cream and drinking beers—well, Tony has coffee and Steve and the President have beers, but that’s to be expected—and by the time Steve heads back to his hotel he’s got the taste of coffee ice cream in his mouth and the image of Tony licking his spoon stuck in his head. 

Tonight he can stand under the blast of the shower head and stroke himself, imagining the taste of coffee ice cream on Tony’s tongue against his, shuddering at the memory of his shiny red lips and playful eyes, easily imagining them peering up at him as Tony sucks his cock.

He comes with a groan and his limbs go loose and weak; he leans against the shower wall for a few minutes before shutting it off and grabbing a towel on his way to his bed. 

Mostly dry, he falls into his bed and closes his eyes. 

* * *

The President, Tony thinks, seems lonely. When the White House empties at night and the only folks around are the cleaning crew and security, he follows along as the man goes to the gym for hours or works in his office in the residence, sleep seeming to be a thing he doesn’t need. 

He’d heard the stories about the man from his father—seen the reels of Captain America in France, hunting down Nazis—but the man in real life is different from those videos. 

Quieter, more thoughtful, _kinder_ than Tony had expected. When one of his staffers hadn’t been able to find child care for the day the President had gleefully swooped the baby out of her arms and carried the little girl around with him all day. 

He’d changed her damn diapers during a national security meeting for fucks sake! 

The National Security Advisor had watched, stunned, as the President rocked the baby to sleep, humming a lullaby in French during his national security briefing and then pointedly asked questions of the NSA as if to prove he was capable of multitasking. 

The man was a damn baby whisperer. 

Tonight though, six months into his term, he’s sitting behind the resolute desk, listening to what sounds like French jazz as he reads national security briefings, and Tony thinks that maybe the man doesn’t know how to take a night off unless it’s to go to the gym till he’s too exhausted to keep going.

He shifts in place and the President looks up, frowning as he scrubs a hand over his face and smiles tiredly at Tony. “Heya Tony, what time is it?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

He checks his watch and lifts a brow, “3:27 am sir.”

The President sighs heavily and nods, looking tired as he smiles, “Shouldn’t you be heading out?” he asks, “I’m sure you’ve got someone waiting at home for you,” he murmurs.

Tony hesitates and then shakes his head, “No sir, it’s just me,” he admits. 

“No wife or girlfriend?” 

He hesitates again, because while he knows the man campaigned on equal rights, it’s one thing to say it and another to believe it. 

“I uh, I’m not interested in women sir,” he says hesitantly, weighing his words carefully, “it’s uh, not well known.”

The President looks surprised for a moment and then smiles, ocean eyes a little brighter, “Thank you for telling me Tony, I appreciate and value your trust in me,” he says earnestly. He ducks his chin and then looks back up at Tony through his lashes and Tony shifts because, _wow_ , does the man even realize what he looks like when he does that? 

“I’m not much interested in women either,” the President admits quietly, watching Tony for his reaction.

_Huh_...not what he expected. 

He swallows and smiles nervously, “Why didn’t you say so during the campaign?” 

Not that it’s any of his business, but if they’re going to be confessing secrets to each other he kinda wants to know this one. 

The President sighs and leans back in his chair and Tony shifts as heat blossoms in his gut at the sight of the huge man stretching his legs out wide, hands behind his head, muscles pulling at his white button down shirt. 

It’s practically indecent how tight his shirts are—Tony’s convinced that one good flex of his muscles would rip the fabric right from his body. 

The thought leaves his mouth dry and he inhales slowly, a warm ache in his cock that teases at more. 

“I wanted to,” the President admits, “but they said the middle of the aisle Republicans wouldn’t like it and we wanted to try and get as much support as we could.” His mouth curls in disgust, “I almost wish I had ignored them—I’ve heard some of them in private talking about gay men and women and it’s reprehensible. I wish I could…”

He takes a deep breath and drops his hands into his lap, shaking his head regretfully. “I wish I was a stronger man.”

Tony snorts and the President looks up at him, surprised, “Sir with all due respect you’re Captain America and the President of the United States. You’re damn near invincible, are the most powerful man in the world, and a _good_ man on top of that. If you wanna make a difference, do something about it,” he tells him firmly before shutting his mouth and stepping back from where he’d moved forward in his fervor. 

_Shit_ , he hopes he hasn’t overstepped—he’s normally got a lid on his smart mouth, but he’s exhausted and it’s harder to keep quiet when his filter is gone. 

The President stares at him and then laughs, shaking his head, “You know what? You’re right,” he agrees, still laughing as he stands and walks over to Tony. He’s a good seven inches taller, bigger too, so when he claps a hand on Tony’s shoulder it reverberates through him, turning up the gas on the heat that’s been simmering in his veins for months. 

“Thank you Tony,” the President murmurs, gaze flickering over his face, lingering on his lips. “I...I think you should call me Steve when we’re alone,” he suggests softly, lips curling into a warm smile. 

Tony feels heat crawl up his neck and nods nervously, “Sure Mr. President, uh, I mean, _Steve_ ,” he stutters out.

Steve grins and squeezes his shoulder, “Great! I think it’s time for bed then, don’t you?” 

Tony stares at him brain shorting out as he’s deluged with thoughts of the President— _Steve—_ asking him to go to bed with an _entirely_ different connotation.

The other man must realize what it sounds like because he takes three steps back, cheeks flushing, gaze averted. “I uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Tony coughs and shakes his head, cheeks blazing, “It’s fine Steve, I uh, I don’t mind.”

Steve’s head comes up, eyes wide, and they stare at each other for a long silent moment before the larger man nods and smiles crookedly, “Right, right, well, uh, have a good night Tony,” he murmurs before fleeing out the patio doors and into the night. 

It’s a long time before Tony can move, rooted to the spot, wondering what the hell just happened.

* * *

Steve finds after that night he’s more... _aware_ of Tony and where he is in a room. Unconsciously, his gaze will seek the other man out, lingering on his hands and jaw and mouth, the aching want inside him growing every time Tony catches him and smirks or winks but says nothing. 

It’s like a game of cat and mouse, and he’s not sure who is who...or who is going to win.

* * *

Tony watches in amazement as Steve strides around the room, angrily demanding to know _why_ the director of the FBI didn’t have intelligence on two bombings in Dearborn, Michigan. 

“Please explain to me Director, how it is you can so accurately track Muslims who pose a threat to this country but are seemingly unable to apply the same level of attention to white terrorists who are tearing apart the fabric of this country with their hate. I’d be very interested to hear your reasoning.”

Tony has to bite back a laugh at the utterly bemused look on the Director’s face. 

“I uh, well sir, it’s not been the focus of the department for many years previous to my heading the agency—”

“Wrong answer Director,” Steve cuts in coldly, eyes blazing like shards of ice. “I want to hear from you in two hours on who was behind these bombing and how they slipped past your notice or we’re going to have a serious problem, do you understand me?”

The director leaps to his feet, nodding earnestly, “Y-Yes sir, Mr. President, sir,” he stammers before Tony ushers him from the Oval Office. 

There’s a long moment of silence after the door shuts and then Steve growls and shoves his chair back, striding angrily out the door, Tony just steps behind. 

He watches as the President beats through three punching bags before he seems to lose the edge on his rage, chest heaving and gleaming with sweat. It’s a distracting sight; sweat has darkened his normally golden locks to a coppery color and his lips are parted around gasps, knuckles stained red from the beating. 

Steve paces around the gym, hands running through his hair again and again as he shakes his head like a dog trying to shed water. His eyes are haunted and stormy with grief and Tony aches to reassure him, to try and ease his pain--but that’s not his place he reminds himself, no matter how much he wants it to be. 

“I thought I left the kind of hate that drives a man to mass murder others behind in the 40’s, and then I wake up here, in this time, and find people questioning the President’s citizenship, police murdering innocent unarmed black Americans, Muslims and Jews being blown up and I just…”

Steve looks back up at him with eyes so forlorn it makes Tony’s chest ache.

“What’s wrong with this world?” he asks plaintively. 

Tony curses and steps forward, edging into his space without thinking, “This world is fucked up Steve, but it needs you—it does,” he insists when Steve shakes his head, “it needs good men to stand up and declare that these things cannot continue. To plant yourself like a tree when you know something is wrong and say, _no **you** move.”_

Steve stares down at him intently, breathing slowing, gaze soft. He smiles sadly, “You have a lot of faith in me,” he says softly, “what if I fail?”

He doesn’t even realize he’s circled Steve’s wrist with his hand till it’s done, and then it’s too late. 

“If you fail, you try again,” he murmurs, squeezing the wrist in his grasp. 

They’re practically nose to nose and he can smell the sweat on Steve’s skin, tangy and warm and he _wants…_

He swallows hard and sinks to his knees in front of the President, hands going to his lean hips as he stares up at him. Steve stares down at him wide eyed as he runs a hand down his thigh, feeling the muscles flex under his hand as he strokes down and then back up, not touching him where’s he’s begun to harden, not yet. 

“Let me take your mind off it,” he offers softly, “just for a little bit.”

Steve swallows hard, throat clicking, hands shaking by his sides and shakes his head, “We, we shouldn’t,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” His eyes are huge and blue and yearning and it makes Tony’s heart clench in a way it hasn’t in years--it’s dangerous to feel this way about this man, he knows, but he can’t quite find it in him to stop. 

Tony’s heart gives a lurch at the sweet sentiment, “Honey, who’s gonna know?” he asks, shifting his hand to cup Steve’s cock, squeezing gently. “I’m not gonna tell, are you?”

Steve gasps and bucks into his hand and shakes his head, hands clenching and unclenching rapidly before he groans and nods, “Okay, okay,” he agrees, cursing softly.

Tony smiles and leans in, tugs down the shorts and licks his lips, groaning softly, “Jesus Steve, you got a gorgeous cock,” he whispers, trailing his fingers over the head of it and then down the vein on the thick underside. 

Steve laughs, “Uh thanks,” he murmurs, voice tight with need as Tony drags his thumbnail over the head of his cock and watches as Steve’s hips buck forward, a pearl of creamy fluid beading at the tip.

Tony swallows hard and glances at his watch—Steve has to be back in the Oval in thirty, showered and ready to meet with the Director, so he better make this good _and_ fast. 

Looking up at Steve he grins, “Hold on Mr. President,” he murmurs teasingly and then, before Steve can respond, he closes his lips around the head of his cock and sucks. 

Steve gasps and bucks, cock sliding further into his mouth and Tony moans appreciatively, licking along the underside, getting his cock sloppy and wet within seconds. He fists the base, pumping as he sucks and licks at the head, Steve’s groans growing louder with each minute.

A hand works its way into his hair, grip firm as he lets his hand slide away and sinks down further on Steve’s cock, his throat filling with the head. He swallows and then pulls back, hollowing his cheeks as he focuses on the head, hands playing with Steve’s balls. 

He abandons Steve’s cock for a minute, sucking first one and then the other ball into his mouth, humming around them when he hears Steve cry out at the sensation. Breathing heavy, he licks and kisses up the length of Steve’s cock and then sinks down on it again, moaning at Steve’s hiss of pleasure and the way his fingers tug on Tony’s hair. 

Fingers sliding through the slick left behind from his mouth on Steve’s balls, Tony rubs against his perineum and takes him deep in his throat, swallowing before he lifts off, licking and sucking noisily, drool on his chin and cock hard in his pants. 

_Fuck…_

He’s gonna have to go to the bathroom after this and take care of it before he goes back in public. He moans at the thought, eager to get a hand on himself and grinds the heel of his free hand into his erection. 

“God Tony, look at you,” Steve groans worshipfully, “my god you look…” he moans as Tony presses harder with his fingers and swallows him down again. 

“I’m gonna, Tony I’m gonna come,” he warns, breathless and with a hint of a whine in his throat. It’s the most beautiful sound Tony’s ever heard—

Till Steve comes down his throat and whines full out, hips thrusting forward so he chokes, moaning around the cock in his throat, gazing blearily up at Steve through the haze of tears and pleasure in his eyes. 

When Steve pulls free with a gutted sound, he wavers and grabs his shorts, yanks them up and then collapses onto his ass beside Tony, breathing just as hard as Tony is. 

There’s a moment of silence and then Steve grins and laughs softly and leans over, wraps a hand around the nape of Tony’s neck and just, _kisses him_. Tony’s surprised—he just had Steve’s dick in his mouth, _swallowed his cum_ , and now the man is kissing him? 

When Steve pulls away Tony can’t help the whine in the back of his throat—he’s still hard and the kissing didn’t help. Steve glances down and swallows hard, biting his lip as he grins at Tony, “If you wait, I’ll help you take care of that,” he offers. 

Tony’s eyes fall shut as he struggles to contain his groan, cock twitching in his pants at the idea of the President—of _Steve_ putting his hand on Tony’s cock. Or his mouth... _god, don’t think about his mouth_ ….

“Tony?”

He nods, “I uh, yea. I’d like that but we gotta get you upstairs. You’re meeting the Director in fifteen minutes. You need to shower and change,” he replies, opening his eyes to see the disappointment in Steve’s eyes flare before the mantle of responsibility falls back on his shoulders.

Tony walks him to the door of the gym and nods to Clint, “Walk the President to the residence,” he orders, waiting till they’re out of sight to duck across the hall and into the bathroom. 

With shaking hands he undoes his trousers and pulls his cock out, stroking hard and fast, eyes shut as he savors the taste of Steve’s cum still in his mouth; recalls the weight of Steve’s cock on his tongue, the sounds he made when he came, the way he whispered Tony’s name as his cock slipped out of his mouth after. 

He makes a low wounded sound as he comes, breathless and a little dizzy. 

He lingers for a few minutes, splashes water over his face and straightens his hair so he looks less fucked out and then grins at himself in the mirror. 

God Bless America.

* * *

Steve shuts the door to his suite, exhausted and shaky. He’s spent the day with the families of the dead and wounded from the bombing and he feels weary down to his soul. 

There’s a light knock at the door and Tony steps in pushing a room service cart. “Dinner time Mr. President,” he calls, nodding when Agent Barton and Agent Parker sweep the cart and check the windows one last time for the night. 

He’s not hungry, and he tells Tony that, but the other man doesn’t listen, just shuts the door behind his colleagues and pushes the cart over so the scent of steak and fries and roasted brussel sprouts assaults his senses. 

His stomach rumbles loudly, betraying him, and Tony gives him a wry smirk. “C’mon Steve,” he murmurs, voice softer, more affectionate this time, “eat something.”

Steve sighs and nods, knowing he’s not going to win this if he tries to argue. “Ok, only if you do too,” he replies, waving a hand to the couch beside him. Tony sits and they eat in silence for a time, shoulders bumping companionably. 

When they’ve both eaten their fill Tony pushes the cart outside and murmurs something Steve can’t hear to the other two agents before shutting the door again. 

To his surprise, Tony strips off his blazer and pulls his guns out of their holsters, setting them on the coffee table before rolling up his sleeves and taking the first one apart. 

Steve watches him, gaze flickering from the report he’s been reading on the bombings and the group behind them, watching as Tony’s hands move in sure, precise movements. 

When Tony is done his eyes are heavy and he’s slumping down on the couch, watching him through hooded eyes, a warm feeling in his chest when Tony turns, expression softening when he sees Steve’s half asleep. 

“C’mon big guy,” Tony murmurs fondly, “let's get you to bed.” 

Steve climbs to his feet with the aid of Tony’s arm around his waist and stumbles into the bedroom suite, guided onto the bed by Tony’s hands and then watches as the other man kneels down and unlaces his loafers.

There’s something heart bruisingly domestic about the action; feeling Tony’s fingers against his ankles as he slips Steve’s socks off, hearing the rasp of his callouses as he runs his hands up Steve’s thighs, smelling his cologne when he leans in and helps Steve undress. 

It’s all….

A lot.

When Tony turns to go Steve grabs his hand, tugs him back with a murmur of _stay_ , and there’s a moment of silence before Tony hums in agreement and climbs onto the bed beside him. 

He shuffles over and curls around Tony, lays his head in his lap and sighs happily when a hand lands on his head and begins toying with his hair. 

He falls asleep content and not alone for the first time in a very long time.

* * *

They have just one last funeral to attend and Tony can see the toll it’s taking on the President--the skin beneath his eyes is bruised from lack of sleep and there’s a slump to his shoulders, as though the weight of the world is bending him down, bearing him down, down, down. 

Tony worries.

His team has scouted the mosque carefully, checked over every inch, but there’s still something wrong in the air that sets his teeth on edge and makes him want to get Steve out of here, _now._

He watches as the President kneels and joins in on prayer, the chanting rhythmic and soothing to Tony’s exhausted brain. His team is nearly as on edge as he is, which is why when gunfire erupts outside the mosque they’re in action almost before making a conscious decision. 

Clint, Natasha and Peter cover the front door while Viz and Banner converge with local police to cover the sides, leaving Tony, Wanda and Sam to head to the President. 

That’s the drill--they’ve run it a thousand times in the past and every time they’ve gotten there.

Not this time. 

The explosion comes as he’s pushing forward, just a few feet from the President, and then it’s chaos--debris flying through the air, heat from the blast erupting outwards, screams of pain and fear and all Tony can think is _where is Steve?_

They get the doors open and usher the terrorized crowds out into the street where EMT’s and police wait to get them to safety and Tony pushes further into the ruined mosque, heart pounding because he _still_ hasn’t found the President, and oh _god_ what if he’s--

Tony cuts the thought off when a figure shifts from under a pile of rubble and then stands, swaying slightly. His heart lurches because he _knows_ that figure, would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. 

Hurrying forward, he grabs Steve’s arm and meets his blazing blue gaze, undimmed by the ash and concrete dust coating his face. There’s cuts across his face and his formerly pristine white shirt is _soaked_ in blood and Tony sucks in a sharp breath before he registers the small body in Steve’s arms as the source of the blood. 

It’s a child, no more than six Tony would guess, a little girl, bloodied and bruised and _very_ still. 

“Is she--?”

Steve shakes his head, “She needs help fast or she will be,” he answers, throat working hard for a moment before he strides out of the building, Tony at his side, where he always should have been. 

They hand off the girl to the EMT’s as her mother sobs and her father cries silently, their community gathered close--faces stained with tears and dust and blood. 

Before he has a chance to get Steve looked after the man is marching over to the gathered TV crews, eyes blazing, hands fisted at his sides. They gather eagerly and Tony watches in awe as the President yanks off his tie and winds it around his fist, mouth pressed into a firm line as he gathers himself before speaking. 

“You’re live?” he demands, and the reporters nod, unable to speak in the face of his barely checked fury. He turns and looks into the cameras, jaw twitching for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. 

“Many of you know my story, but it’s not just my story, it’s ours. There was a time when we came together as a nation to decry hate, to fight against fear and prejudice and tried to make a better world for our children.”

He sighs heavily and shakes his head, “Or that’s what I thought anyway. From everything I’ve seen, we’ve only entrenched ourselves deeper into what divides us, allowed ourselves to be frightened by the people who lead us, consumed the lies and rhetoric that drip like poison from their lips and in doing so, we’ve turned on each other, allowed their lies to become the truth. 

The people who committed this heinous act _will_ be found, charged with domestic terrorism and hate crimes, and they will _never_ see the light of day again,” he promises. “I am profoundly shaken by what this country has become. My opponent ran on the idea of making our country great again--by marginalizing and hating those of us that are different. I tell you now, that is _not_ how you make a country great, and we will, we _must_ work together as a nation to purge this evil from our collective hearts. We must be better.”

He pauses and looks away to where first responders are pulling bodies from the rubble, and the cameras capture the tears rolling down his face, the image broadcast to millions across the nation and all around the world. 

“We have to be better,” the President whispers brokenly, head bowing as grief wracks his shoulders. 

There’s no sound from those gathered; they all remain silent as Tony guides Steve away with a gentle hand at his elbow, only to stop when the mother of the girl Steve had pulled out of the rubble collapses with a wail--her daughter is gone. 

Tony feels it when Steve sways and moves to brace him, holding him up as he weeps along with the family, one large hand gripping his shoulder as the other covers his mouth, muffling his sobs. 

It’s the day the nation remembers, the day their President wept--and it’s the day Tony realizes he loves the man behind the title, the man no one else has seen until now. 

He’s in love with Steve Rogers and he can’t find it in himself to stop. 

* * *

Steve bites back a groan, leaning back in his chair and widens his legs, staring down at where Tony is sucking his cock while he’s on the phone with the French Prime Minister. 

It’s dangerous what they’re doing, in the middle of the day, but Tony had been smirking and cracking jokes all morning and they haven’t been together in weeks because Tony had to fly to New York and deal with family business and then Steve had to go to the G8 summit in Berlin and it’s been one thing after another till Tony finally pushed him just far enough that he’s risked this moment in the Oval Office. 

When he comes down Tony’s throat the other man moans softly and Steve hisses and then rapidly apologizes in French, thanking the PM for his time before hanging up. 

Tony grins at him from the floor, “God Bless America indeed Mr. President,” he teases, rising to his feet to kiss Steve before heading back to his post by the door. 

Steve smirks and shakes his head, flinching slightly when the door opens and the head of the DNI is escorted in. 

They’d cut that one close. 

* * *

“You’re coming for Christmas,” Steve whispers against the back of Tony’s neck, “aren’t you?”

Tony hesitates and then nods, “If you want me to,” he agrees. 

He can feel Steve’s smile against his neck, the larger man’s hands pressing against his chest as they lay together beneath the sheets of Steve’s bed, Christmas lights outside the windows glowing against the snow falling in a silent dance down to cover the grass.

“I always want you,” Steve whispers back. 

* * *

Tony looks up in surprise, heart in his throat. Steve is watching him carefully, a hopeful expression on his face, hands laced together beneath his chin as Tony opens his last Christmas present.

He’s already received a watch with a Captain America shield face, a scarf, a new handgun, and now…

“I uh, I think I know what this is, but maybe you wanna explain?” he suggests quietly, meeting Steve’s gaze with a tiny smile. 

Because it’s...it’s a ring.

They’ve been together for a year and a half now and still haven’t come out and Steve has given him a _ring._

Steve nods and then shifts out of his seat to kneel at Tony’s side and he inhales sharply, suddenly aware that the most powerful man in the world both literally and figuratively is on his knees—for _Tony_. 

“That’s my promise, that no matter what, I’m yours. If you want us to come out and go away together at the end of my term and leave this all behind, I will,” Steve promises vehemently, “whatever you want Tony, I’ll do it for you.”

Tony finds himself blinking back sudden tears, throat thick and has to glance away, breathing unsteadily with the weight of the ring in his palm. A large hand covers his and Steve’s lips press against his cheek, “Hey, sweetie, c’mon, don’t cry,” Steve whispers, voice low and broken, “please baby.”

Tony half sobs and turns suddenly to kiss him, nearly knocking him back with the force of it, and then Steve is kissing him back, hungry and demanding. 

“Put it on me,” Tony demands between kisses, pressing the ring into Steve’s hand. They break apart to watch together as the band of titanium and gold alloy slides onto his finger smoothly.

Steve pulls back and lifts a chain from around his neck, a matching band dangling from it. His blue eyes sparkle with adoration as Tony laughs and reaches out to flick a finger against it. 

“You gonna wear it?” he asks softly, grinning when Steve removes the chain and slides it onto his finger and then surges up to kiss him again, softer this time, but no less demanding. 

They stumble together back to Steve’s bedroom, shedding clothing along the way till they’re falling together onto the bed, laughing and kissing, hands roaming as skin slides against skin and their kisses grow sharper and more demanding.

Tony sucks a mark onto Steve’s collarbone, revelling in his low moan and the way his hands tighten on his hips. “Lemme ride you,” he whispers, licking at the sheen of sweat on Steve’s throat.

“Y-Yea,” Steve agrees, moaning when Tony wraps a hand around their cocks and rolls his hips so they slide against each other through the tight grip of his hand. 

Tony bends down to kiss him again, moaning as he keeps rolling his hips and then pulls away to lean over and grab the lube from the bedside table. 

“Can I?” Steve asks breathlessly, bright eyes darkened by lust. 

“Fuck yea you can baby,” Tony agrees, pushing the lube into his hand and resettling himself on Steve’s lap. He runs his hands up and down Steve’s chest while he slicks up his fingers and teases at a nipple just to hear Steve moan. 

Steve leans up and kisses him as he reaches back and starts rubbing the lube into the tight furl of Tony’s hole, shivers running over his spine as Steve’s tongue moves languidly against his, moaning when a thick finger presses in slowly.

He loves and hates Steve for this; how much he enjoys taking his time opening Tony up, how he loves making it last till Tony is shaking and whining, desperate for more. 

It seems Steve’s really in a mood tonight because he doesn’t add a second finger even when Tony begs, just keeps fucking it in and out slowly, kissing and kissing Tony till somehow, he’s close. His cock is dripping wet when Steve finally, _finally_ pushes in another finger and he whimpers, high and loud as Steve curls them, scraping over his prostate. 

“G-god, please Steve, _please_.”

Steve nips at his throat, “Please what honey?”

Tony whines and rolls his hips, “Need more,” he gasps, trying to fuck himself down on Steve’s fingers. 

Steve bites his shoulder and growls, “Not yet doll, wanna hear ya beg,” he murmurs lowly and oh Christ, Tony can’t take it—he whines and shakes his head, rocking his hips again to try and get more, and before he knows it, Steve has him flipped onto his back, hips pinned to the bed with one broad hand as his fingers resume their leisurely path in and out of his body. 

Tony gasps and tries to squirm, delicious heat flaring under his skin when Steve holds him down tighter, the slick sound of his fingers moving within Tony making his gut writhe with need. 

“God you’re gorgeous,” Steve croons, teeth closing down on the crook of Tony’s neck, firm and hot and wet just like Steve knows he likes. 

Steve pays close attention to his prostate, rubbing slow and firm and Tony sobs, lights sparkling behind his eyelids as he thrashes, desperate to breathe even as his lungs burn. 

It’s so much, every time, and Steve _knows_ that, _knows_ what this does to him and knows how much he adores being pushed over into overstimulation so everything aches just that little bit more. 

Steve kisses and sucks and bites over his chest, working a third finger in and Tony shudders at the sensation of being filled. Steve’s cock is so much better and he begs for it, gasping and pleading for Steve to get inside him, but the other man just silences him with a kiss that’s devastating and deep. 

His breath is stolen when Steve rolls them, dragging him along so he’s in Steve’s lap, barely noticing when the man’s fingers leave him and he’s open and wet and aching and then there’s a blunt pressure at his hole and he gasps, eyes opening wide as Steve pushes into him slowly. 

Tony leans forward and kisses Steve desperately as he sinks down onto his cock, moaning softly as he’s filled and spread wide by Steve’s hands on his ass, one of his thumbs stroking gently at where his rim is stretched taut. 

It sends a shiver over his spine and he gasps against Steve’s lips, moaning as Steve rolls his hips up and pushes even deeper into him. “C’mon baby, lemme see you ride me,” Steve whispers, the words wet against his lips as Steve’s lips brush his. 

Tony nods and pushes himself upright, hands braced on Steve’s massive chest, groaning as the angle pushes Steve’s cock deeper. He starts slow, rolling his hips to get used to it and then slowly he gains speed as pleasure burns through his veins and his breath sobs out at the overwhelming rush of heat that spreads through his gut. 

Steve moans beneath him and leans up on his elbows, head tilting back so Tony can see his hazy blue eyes, lips wet and red and forming Tony’s name. He braces himself better on Steve’s shoulders and bends down to kiss him, groaning as he rides Steve, brow furrowed in pleasure. 

“I love you,” he pants, one hand sliding up the slick nape of Steve’s neck to twine through the sweat dampened locks of gold he loves, nails scraping his scalp as he kisses him, pleasure thundering through him with each pounding beat of his heart. 

Steve whines softly, hands sliding up Tony’s back before scraping down, settling on his hips to pull him down harder on his cock so they both groan, kissing between heaving gasps, hands everywhere at once, desperate for more. 

“Touch me,” Tony pleads, crying out Steve’s name when he does, brow pressing into Steve’s as he grinds down harder, thrusts growing faster, moans louder as Steve strokes his cock, breath hot on Tony’s cheek. 

“That’s it love, come on,” Steve whispers, lips brushing Tony’s cheek, words hot and wet against his skin. Steve strokes him harder, faster, grip tightening at the head like Tony loves and then he’s coming with a sharp cry of Steve’s name, shuddering in his powerful arms, cock painting their skin white between them. 

He feels Steve groan and shakes as the other man thrusts up into him, each heavy slide of his cock knocking the air he’s only just managed to inhale back out of his lungs. 

His lips find Steve’s and he moans into his mouth, letting Steve’s large hands guide his hips so he’s rising and falling on his cock still, over sensitive and sore and absolutely perfect. 

Steve’s face shifts and tucks into his throat, breath hot on his skin as his hands tighten to the point of bruising on Tony’s hips, groans sounding almost pained now. He thrusts harder still, a raw cry in his throat as he spills inside Tony, teeth closing down on the crook of Tony’s neck. 

Tiny shudders run over Tony's spine as Steve slows and pulls him closer, the frantic energy between them softening as their bodies melt into each other. Steve’s hair is wet at the nape of his neck Tony discovers when he slides his hands up from where they had been on his shoulders. 

Steve’s mouth is still open against his shoulder, hot breath washing over his skin as Steve pants for air and holds onto him tightly, sighing as Tony shifts slightly and then shivers at the feel of Steve’s cock still inside him. 

He’s well aware that if he doesn’t pull off Steve will probably get hard again _very_ soon, but the feeling of rightness beneath his skin at being this close and connected to Steve is hard to shake. He settles for holding as still as he can and pressing his lips to Steve’s damp hair, closing his eyes in bliss. 

“I love you.”

The words are muffled against his skin, but Tony hears them nonetheless. 

Smiling, he kisses Steve’s brow. 

“Love you too babe.”

* * *

They don’t wait till the end of Steve’s first term to come out; instead, they get married by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in a ceremony only attended by their closest friends, after which a press release from the White House is released--causing an undeniable amount of pandemonium in the news that Steve and Tony carefully keep from watching for at least two days. 

(If it just so happens that they don’t leave the bedroom for those two days well...no one outside of senior staff has to know.)

FOX news decries the failing morals of the nation and The New York Times wonders what exactly made the President hide their relationship while the Washington Post (no longer owned by Jeff Bezos) rejoices at the news and posts a story about the uptick in arrests on violent white terrorist groups in America. 

It’s not an easy road they’ve chosen—Steve’s popularity wavers with the 50-75 age group, but among veterans age 80 and over, he’s wildly popular. 

**_My best guy and I fought alongside the President—well he was just Captain then—he was the man you wanted by your side in any fight, and I’ll stand with him for this one! Love is love and I’m going to vote for the Captain come election time._ **

**_[Harold Waznewski, 107th Infantry Regiment]_ **

**Interview, Time Magazine**

They know come re-election time they’ll have to face nasty invectives and ugly rumors, but neither man minds much—their love is a bulwark in the storm and together they can face any rough tide that comes their way. 

The years come and go and the White House gets left behind for a smaller house, with a yard and kids to fill it--Tony starts his own private security company and Steve teaches at Georgetown and when the next election rolls around and the first openly lesbian trans woman runs for office and _wins_ , Tony holds Steve’s hand, tears on their faces at the triumph unfolding before them. 

America has never been a perfect nation, but it’s well on its way to becoming a great one. 

**Author's Note:**

> TW: bombings against Muslims, mentions of violence, hate, and injury/death of a child. These are non-graphic. 
> 
> Acronyms you may not be familiar with: 
> 
> DNI: Director of National Intelligence  
> FBI: Federal Bureau of Investigation  
> NSA: National Security Adviser
> 
> https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/03/magazine/FBI-charlottesville-white-nationalism-far-right.amp.html


End file.
